Sherlock's Unconventional Weekend
by BenAddiction
Summary: A hotel, and a weekend away, but why is every hotel fully booked and why do teenage girls squeal so loudly? Please enjoy and review, and please be kind. Rated T for mild swearing.
1. Arrival

**I hope you enjoy. Please review.**

Sherlock's Unconventional Weekend.

Chapter One – Arrival

Sherlock's piercing blue gaze swept across the hotel lobby as he stepped out of the revolving door, his brain cataloguing every detail. Walking forward he joined the queue to check in, followed eventually by his blogger John Watson who was muttering quietly to himself.

'That's alright Sherlock, I'll pay for the taxi and sort out the luggage. Wouldn't want you to strain yourself!'

Ignoring the older man, Sherlock moved up to the desk and removed his black leather gloves.

Raising her head with her professional smile fixed firmly in place the receptionist asked, 'Name?'

'Holmes. I booked two rooms for one night.' stated Sherlock as his brain sifted through all of the minuscule details of the young woman's life.

Typing the name into the computer in front of her, the receptionist's eyes widened slightly as she read the information on the screen. Glancing up at the consulting detective, the young woman gulped in fear as she saw the expression on Sherlock's face. 'Erm ... I am most dreadfully sorry sir, I'm afraid there appears to have been a mix up with your reservation. We only appear to have one room booked under the name of Holmes.'

John stepped up to Sherlock's side and noticing his flatmate glaring menacingly at the terrified receptionist, he looked between the two of them as he asked with a confused smile on his face 'Is there a problem here? ... Sherlock?'

Sherlock drew himself up to his full height as he looked down with disdain at the young woman behind the desk, and replied to his friend, 'There's no problem John, well, nothing a little more concentration when accepting bookings wouldn't cure. Instead, it appears to be perfectly acceptable to be checking twitter whilst on the phone to potential customers, rather than ensuring the correct details have been taken!'

John sighed and had just opened his mouth to speak, when the receptionist, angry at being thought of as incompetent, interrupted, 'Excuse me, sir ...'

'You are excused, now I wish to see the manager, if you would be so kind. Thank you!' stated Sherlock, before the young woman could continue.

Opening and closing her mouth very much in the manner of a goldfish, the young receptionist stood frozen to the spot. Taking pity on the young woman, John leant forward and said quietly 'Maybe it would be better for us to discuss this with someone a little more senior.'

Blinking several times, she turned towards John, gave a polite smile and pressing a key on her computer to call the duty manager to the front desk, she replied 'Yes, of course sir, if you'll wait a moment, the manager will be with you shortly.'

Sensing that Sherlock was readying himself to deliver one of his more cutting remarks, John placed his hand on his flatmate's arm and murmured quietly, 'Don't. Just don't. I'll deal with this. Okay?'

Sherlock lowered his head slightly in a nod of agreement and took a small step back, acknowledging John's superior people skills.

When the manager arrived some minutes later, it was explained to the two men that unfortunately, due to the large number of guests there were no other rooms available. A call around to other hotels in the area elicited the same response. Everywhere was fully booked.

John released a weary sigh as he lowered his head in resignation of the fact that he would be sharing a room with his flatmate. Straightening up, he accepted the key-card and thanked the manager for attempting to help, then reaching down, he picked up the luggage and began walking towards the lifts, followed rapidly by the consulting detective.

'John?' asked Sherlock as they stood waiting for the lift to arrive.

'It's ten o'clock at night, the train journey up from London was a nightmare, I am tired and I am cold. I just want to get to my room and go to sleep. So whatever you are thinking of saying, whatever gem is whizzing around that enormous brain of yours? Just, please, for once, keep it to yourself. Okay?' replied John as he stepped into the lift which had just that second arrived. 'What floor are we on?'

'Third. Our room number is 307.' answered Sherlock as he pressed the number 3 on the wall, before turning to face the doors. Both John and Sherlock falling silent as they waited for them to close.

A sudden shout from just along the corridor brought both men out of their thoughts. Sherlock reached over to press the button that prevented the doors from closing as John leant out to see what the commotion was all about. The sound of muffled footsteps could be heard hurrying along the carpeted corridor.

'Hold the lift, please!' the teenage girl at the front of the group of teenagers called out again, before all three of them tumbled in to the lift. 'Thank you so much.' she gushed, turning to look at the two other occupants as she pushed the button for the fourth floor. As she raised her eyes to Sherlock's face, her mouth dropped open in shock.

'Jen? What ...?' the other two teenage girls began to ask, before they too gazed at Sherlock in surprise.

Sherlock frowned as he glanced across at John, who was looking thoroughly confused by the bizarre turn of events.

Luckily for both men, the lift arrived at the third floor, and the two of them rapidly exited the lift. As they walked down the corridor, they heard a high pitched squeal followed by giggling before the lift doors finally closed, cutting off the sound.

'What on earth was that all about, Sherlock?' asked John as they searched for their room.

'Teenage girls John. I have no idea, they are a complete and utter mystery to the rest of the human race.' replied Sherlock, opening the door to their room and walking in, before continuing 'I'm sure it will all be made perfectly clear tomorrow.'

John followed his friend into the room and dumped their bags on the floor next to the king size bed. Leaning down, he opened his holdall and removed his toiletry bag and sleep ware. 'Right, well, I'm going to commandeer the bathroom and get ready for bed. Shouldn't be too long, then you can do ... whatever it is you do ... to get ready for the night. If that's alright with you?' said John, a light blush crossed his cheeks as he realised that he would actually have to share a bed with his young flatmate. John was no prude, he'd been in the army for God's sake, but it had been quite a long time since he had been in such close proximity to another man, and after the excruciatingly embarrassing discussion at Angelo's the day after they first met, he didn't want Sherlock to think he was in any way propositioning him again.

When there was no reply, John looked across the room to where Sherlock was now laid out on the sofa with his eyes closed and his hands raised to his lips in the stereotypical prayer position. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head in exasperation, John smiled softly as he walked in to the bathroom to change for bed, resolving to cover the young man in one of the spare blankets that were usually kept in the top of the wardrobes in hotel rooms.


	2. Let's Play Fratricide

A/N: Thank you so much all of you wonderful people who have reviewed this story so far, I hope you continue. Your reviews mean so much to me. :-D I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint too much, hopefully the next chapter will be better!

Don't own Sherlock, wish I did. :)

Iain Jackson and Concity are completely made up by me, and do not, as far as I am aware, exist.

Hope you all enjoy, please review.

Chapter Two – Let's Play ... Fratricide.

John groaned as he stretched upon waking. Opening his eyes he sat up and looked around. The blanket that had covered his flatmate was now folded up and resting on the sofa, with the younger man nowhere in sight. Yawning widely, John got out of bed, found the clothes he wanted to wear that day in his bag and walked over to the en suite bathroom.

Having finished getting ready for the day, John returned to the bedroom to discover his flatmate seated at the desk surrounded by newspapers.

'Oh ... you're back then.' stated John as he placed his pyjamas and toiletries on the bed.

'Hm? ... Yes, obviously.' Sherlock replied whilst concentrating on the pages in front of him.

'So, what's with all of the papers? A case?' asked John. 'Otherwise, I was going to suggest we head down for some breakfast.'

'Not a case, no.' muttered Sherlock, conveniently ignoring the rest of the conversation.

'Okay, so breakfast then.' John replied as he sat on the bed to fasten his shoe laces.

'Not hungry.' Sherlock answered distractedly.

'Wasn't asking! Let's go.' John walked over to his flatmate, picked up Sherlock's coat and scarf and handed them to the younger man. 'You haven't had a decent meal since Thursday and it's Saturday today, and you've just said that you're not on a case, so we're having the breakfast that comes with the room.'

Groaning in defeat, Sherlock got to his feet, pulled on his long dark coat, and wrapped his scarf around his slim neck. Picking up their key-card, the two men left their room and walked along the corridor towards the lift. Halfway there, the two men slowed slightly and turned towards each other, both having remembered the scene in the lift from the previous evening. Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock asked the former army doctor, 'Stairs?'

John gave a short nod as he replied, 'Stairs!' The detective and his blogger then proceeded to make their way to the ground floor. Entering the dining room, they gave their room number to a member of staff and were shown to a table. Leaving Sherlock seated at the table, John queued up at the buffet. After he had helped himself to several breakfast items, John collected a second plate and filled it with some food for Sherlock, hoping to tempt his fussy palate. Placing the plate in front of his young friend, John sat down and began devouring his own breakfast of sausage, bacon, fried eggs and beans. Picking up a slice of toast, and a mini pot of strawberry jam, he swallowed his final mouthful of baked beans as he finally took a moment to look around at the rest of the dining room.

'So, what have you deduced about our fellow diners then, Sherlock? Any serial killers in our midst?' John asked with a grin before taking a bite of his jam laden toast.

'Well, that couple sat over in the corner are quite obviously ...' Sherlock didn't manage to say anything further as they were suddenly joined by a middle aged red haired, bearded man dressed smartly in a three piece suit.

'So sorry to bother you, but you are Mr. Sherlock Holmes and companion, are you not?' the gentleman inquired.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the man who had interrupted his genius. 'And you are?' he asked using every ounce of superiority he possessed as he looked down his nose at the interloper.

'Oh, erm ... Iain Jackson, I run Concity. We are the biggest unofficial convention company in the UK. We run fan conventions for like-minded individuals' Iain replied, a polite though somewhat confused smile crossing his face as he realised that the two men eating their breakfast in front of him, had never heard of him or his company. 'I spoke to your PA, Mr. Holmes. She was extremely helpful.'

'My PA, Mr. Jackson?' asked Sherlock, as he glanced across at John, his eyebrow raised a little in confusion. John shook his head slightly, telling Sherlock without words that he was as much in the dark as the detective.

'Yes. I think she said her name was Anthea. A very efficient young woman, and like I said before, extremely helpful.' answered Iain, his worried gaze switching rapidly between the two guests. 'Look, is there a problem? I was led to believe that everything in the contract was satisfactory.'

'Sherlock, what's going on? Why would your brother's assistant be organising for us to attend a convention. I don't understand.' asked John.

'Mycroft!' hissed Sherlock, then turning to John, he grimaced and asked, 'Tell me John, what are your thoughts on fratricide?'

Just as John opened his mouth to answer the young genius, a high pitched squeal rang out from across the dining room, 'Oh. My. God! It's him, it really is him!'

Wincing at the noise, John turned to his friend and replied 'Well, I'm definitely warming to the idea.'


	3. Brother Mine!

A/N: Wow, reviews are already in double figures after only two chapters. Thank you so much to all of you who have reviewed, I really appreciate it so much. Please continue! :) I hope you enjoy this latest offering, and don't worry I will be getting to the actual convention very soon. :-)

I don't own Sherlock, because believe me, if I did, what fun I would have! ;-P

So there are some minor spoilers to the third series of Sherlock (before The Sign of Three) in this chapter (Sherlock is back, and John is engaged to Mary).

Chapter Three – Brother Mine!

Closing the door behind him, John followed Sherlock into their room, and picking his bag up from the floor, he placed it on the bed where he unzipped it. Collecting his dirty laundry and toiletries from where he had placed them on the bed before breakfast, he began to pack his belongings away in a quick, and efficient manner. Pausing, John put his pyjama bottoms back on the bed and looked across at his young friend.

'Well, at least we know what that little scene was about in the lift last night.' John said with a sigh, before continuing. 'What's really going on Sherlock? Why are we here, and what the hell has Mycroft got to do with all of this?'

'I'm ... I'm not sure. Lestrade texted me about a possible crime scene linked to that serial killer from last month. He said he'd spoken to the local police and he could get me the go ahead to take a look if I came up this weekend, but only this weekend. Evidently he was lying, Mycroft must have coerced him into sending us on a wild goose chase. As to why Mycroft is involved? I can only surmise that it is his way of collecting part of my debt to him. He does so enjoy his little games.' answered Sherlock with a grimace as thoughts of his older brother crossed his mind.

'Sorry ... debt?' John frowned in confusion as he tried to wrap his head around all he had just heard.

'For the help he gave me during my time ... away.' replied Sherlock glancing in John's direction before quickly averting his eyes in shame.

John sighed again. 'Sherlock ... it's done, I've already told you that I forgive you, though the way you went about it, was not the best way to achieve that outcome, just so you know for next time.'

Sherlock smiled slightly as he said quietly, 'There isn't going to be a next time John, that I can promise you.'

'Good to know. So, the single room. Was that Mycroft's idea as well? Your brother's warped idea of a joke? Because I have to be honest, it's beginning to wear a little thin now. I'm engaged to be married for Christ's sake!' asked John, as he picked up his pyjamas again and continued to pack his bag ready for their departure back to London later that day.

Sherlock snorted softly as he replied 'Huh, hardly. My brother's sense of humour is virtually non-existent. No that really was an error by the hotel staff as I said yesterday. Though I believe, if the text I received a short while ago from my brother's assistant is correct and I have no reason to think otherwise, the room is actually booked for two nights to enable us to attend the whole of this weekend's event.'

John froze in the middle of zipping up his bag and stared in disbelief at his friend. 'You couldn't tell me that earlier? Before I started packing my bag?' Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by John, 'Hang on, we don't have enough clothes for two nights. We only packed enough stuff for an overnight stay.'

'That won't be a problem, Mycroft's assistant is having some clothes sent up, they'll be available for collection from the concierge later this afternoon.' Sherlock stated, while pulling his mobile from his jacket pocket, and loading up his internet browser. 'Now let's take a look at this Concity and find out who we're dealing with.'

John unzipped his bag, removed his toiletries and walked into the en suite bathroom. After depositing his razor, shaving gel, toothbrush and paste next to the sink, he returned to the bedroom. Picking up the itinerary for the convention, he checked his watch. Noting that they were scheduled to be in the conservatory in twenty minutes for a photo session, he pulled on his coat, walked over to the mirror and straightened his clothing and hair before turning back to his friend and asked.

'Are you going to get ready? If we're going to do this, we may as well do it right. The itinerary says that we're due downstairs in twenty minutes. You may want to ... I don't know ... brush your hair or something.'

Sherlock looked up from his perusal of the Concity's website. 'Hmm? ... Oh right, yes. Of course.' he answered.

Standing up, Sherlock refastened his coat and scarf from where he had loosened it earlier. Then he put his hands up to his head and ruffled his dark curls. His hair falling perfectly into place in soft waves. Turning towards the door, he picked up the key-card to the room. As he walked out into the corridor, he became aware of the fact that John wasn't following him. Turning around he saw John staring at him in amazement, his mouth open wide in surprise. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he asked, 'What? ... What is it? ... What's wrong?'

John blinked several times before he closed his mouth with an audible snap. 'You just ... run your fingers through your hair ... and you look like you just stepped out of a fancy hair salon ... how do you do that? If I tried that, I'd look like I'd just been pulled through a hedge backwards!'

'It's just my hair John.' replied Sherlock with a bemused expression on his face. 'Now, come along, you were concerned mere seconds ago about us being late, and now you're just standing there, staring.'


	4. It was in the conservatory with

A/N: Apologies for the delay. Thank you to all the people who have read this story so far, especially those of you who have reviewed, followed and favourited. Please continue, it means such a lot to me, I love getting reviews, they make my day.

Still don't own Sherlock!

Please enjoy. :-)

Chapter Four – It was in the conservatory with...

Walking back down to the ground floor, John put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out his mobile. When he checked his messages he found one from Mary asking him to call her when he arrived at the hotel. Groaning slightly, he remembered that he had forgotten to do so the previous evening, so, moving his fingers slowly over his phone (technology was not his friend), he called his fiancée. Reaching Mary's voice mail, he left a message. 'Hi love, I am so sorry for not calling you earlier. Apparently there is no case, it's Mycroft's idea of a joke! I'll tell you more when we get home, and about that, erm ... Sherlock and I are booked to stay another night ... apparently. Mycroft's idea again. Anyway, I'll see you soon. Love you! Bye.'

Hanging up, John glanced across to where Sherlock was standing, looking at him, smirking. Frowning, John asked, 'What? Why are you smirking like that?'

'You finished that message in a hurry, didn't you?' answered Sherlock with a grin.

John huffed as he pushed passed his friend and ignoring the question posed to him, jogged down the rest of the steps to the floor below. Sherlock followed his doctor down the stairs, his blue eyes sparkling with undisguised mirth.

John turned slightly as he reached the bottom, and, realising Sherlock still found his predicament amusing, he turned back grumbling 'Shut up Sherlock. Just because Mary happens to like you, though God knows why as none of my previous girlfriends did, doesn't mean that she'll be happy about the change in plans. Okay?'

'Mary likes me, because unlike your previous girlfriends, she has a modicum of intelligence.' replied Sherlock.

John grinned as he turned back to his former flatmate and with just a hint of surprise in his voice said, 'You actually like her, don't you?'

'Don't be ridiculous John.' Sherlock answered, though much to his chagrin, his voice was rather lacking it's usual conviction, as he pushed through the doors into the hotel lobby.

Shaking his head in amusement, John followed, only to walk into a six foot wall of wool. Stumbling slightly and unable to see around his friend's immobile tall frame, John jabbed his finger into the small of Sherlock's back and called out, in order to gain his attention. 'Hey!'

Frowning at the discomfort in his back, Sherlock moved slightly to the side to allow John a view of the room. John's jaw dropped in surprise as he peered around his friend. In front of the two men were, what appeared to be, several hundred men, women and children, several of whom were wearing long dark coats and deerstalkers, standing around in groups chatting. Looking up at his friend, John saw an expression similar to his own on the younger man's face. Opening his mouth to ask the young detective what the hell was going on, he stopped when he saw the event organiser pushing his way through the crowd of people towards them.

'Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, please come this way, we're all set up for you.' Iain Jackson called out as soon as he was close enough to the two men, steering them away from the growing throng towards the hotel conservatory.

'How ... how many people are attending this event, Mr. Jackson?' John asked as they made their way along the hotel corridor.

Iain smiled happily as he answered, 'Just under one thousand people, Dr. Watson. I have to say, I'm rather pleased with the response. Your fan base is larger than I was expecting, not that I'm complaining, you understand.'

'One ... thousand ... bloody hell, that's ... Jesus! A thousand! Really!?' John's eyebrows were raised so high in surprise, they appeared to have become part of his short military style fringe. Iain grinned in delight at the doctor's reaction.

As the three men finally reached the conservatory, Sherlock and John looked around in awed silence. The chandeliers hanging from the gilt edged ceiling shone brightly, rainbows from the glittering crystals dancing across the four walls. The sheer magnificence of the room taking their breath away. Holding out his arm, Iain indicated a route through the many tables that had been set up to provide a walkway of sorts leading to the far end, where an impromptu photographic studio had been set up.

'So, the attendees will queue up along this walkway, having left any bags at the central bag-dump, and wait at the white line just here.' At this point Iain pointed to a strip of white tape stuck to the floor, which was similar in appearance to the marks left on a stage to denote an actor's position during a play, before continuing, 'Each attendee (or group of attendees, depending on the type of ticket purchased) will then step forward and stand on the cross. Then, depending again on whether the attendee has purchased a single ticket or a duo ticket, either one or both of you will stand next to the attendee and a photo will be taken. That attendee will then leave, and the next one will take their place. Everything clear so far?' asked Iain with a small smile.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in obvious frustration as he opened his mouth to give a condescending answer when John grabbed his arm and speaking louder than normal to drown out any comment Sherlock may still attempt to make, replied 'Yes, thank you, it all seems to be very well thought out.' Returning his voice to it's usual volume he asked, 'What about when the photos are taken, erm ... is there ... erm ... any sort of ... erm ... protocol regarding posing for the photo?'

An expression of confusion crossed Iain's face as he looked at the two men, unsure of what he was being asked. Sherlock groaned as he shook off John's hand on his arm and explained, 'What John is trying to say and failing miserably; how close do we have to be to these people when the photographs are being taken?'

Iain's face cleared as he finally understood John's question. Replying, he said 'Ah, well, we've informed all attendees of the rules governing the photo shoot. There will be no props, no hugs and definitely no inappropriate touching. Any groping of the guests will result in the police being called and the perpetrator will be prosecuted. You need have no worries on that score. Anything else will be at your own discretion as long as everyone feels comfortable. So if you feel okay with placing an arm on the attendee's shoulder, for example, that wouldn't be a problem.'

Nodding, John smiled at Iain and said, 'Okay, let's get this started then, shall we.' His smile widening when he heard Sherlock groan loudly at the thought of what was to come.


	5. And Smile

A/N: Once again thank you so much to those of you who have reviewed so far, it means such a lot :-) Please continue. I hope you like this little chapter!

Disclaimer: Still don't own, wish I did ;-P

Please enjoy!

Chapter Five – And Smile ...

Two hours later and John was beginning to flag. His cheek muscles were aching so much, it felt as though his facial expression would be permanently stuck in a rictus grin. Taking a brief moment between photos, he looked across at his younger flatmate, who was looking surprisingly relaxed.

'How is your face not hurting from smiling so much, Sherlock?' John leant across towards his friend and asked quietly.

Sherlock's lips tilted up into the barest hint of a smile as he glanced quickly across at the blonde doctor. 'I'm not grinning like an idiot.' replied Sherlock, in a low whisper.

John's eyes narrowed slightly as he glared at his friend, 'Shut up Sherlock.' replied John, before pulling his face back into a smile as he moved away to allow the next attendee to stand between the pair.

Finally, the queue for photographs came to an end. As the two men began to move away from their designated places, the final attendee to have her photo taken, looked up at Sherlock, and her warm brown eyes sparkling with happiness, placed her hand carefully on the young detective's upper arm and said quietly, and with great sincerity, 'Thank you' before removing her hand and walking away. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he stared at the older woman as she left the room, his all seeing gaze taking in every detail of the woman's life, from the style of her hair to the fastening of the laces on her shoes. They all told the story of a woman, tired of the world and her place in it, and yet, the way her eyes had lit up and the smile that radiated from her face in that one brief moment spoke of true contentment that few people achieve, only for it to fall away as she left the room to return to the real world of family arguments and a stress filled life.

Shaking the images from his head, Sherlock turned to his friend who was looking at him with concern on his face. Flipping up his collar, Sherlock put his hands into his coat pockets and pulled the long woollen garment tighter around his slender frame as he turned to walk away.

Jogging slightly to keep pace with his tall friend, John looked up as he asked, 'Are you okay? That woman ... everything ... alright?'

Sherlock stopped suddenly, and inhaled sharply before replying, 'Yes John. I'm fine. So, what's next on the agenda?'

'Oh, um ... I'm not too sure. Erm, but as it's lunchtime, we may as well see about getting something to eat. Come on, let's make our way over to the restaurant.' answered John.

Sherlock looked a little put out by this as he remarked petulantly, 'Ugh, must we. I ate this morning. I've told you before, John, digesting slows me down.'

Placing his hand on to Sherlock's back, John began to propel the young genius in the direction of the hotel restaurant as he replied 'Yes, Sherlock, we must. I've also told you before, we're not on a case at the moment, so you will eat regular meals. Now come on. Do not make me force you, because I think we both know that wouldn't be pretty!'

Sherlock huffed a few times, but both men knew it was little more than a token gesture, as they both walked into the restaurant and took their seats at a small table.

A/N: Okay, so I need a favour, I'm writing the next chapter which will have some of the Q&A section of the weekend. I have a few ideas of what questions could be asked by the attendees for John and Sherlock to answer, but if any of you wish to, please PM me with any ideas you may have. I can't promise to use any questions I receive, but I can promise to consider them. Please remember this is a T rated story, so nothing too graphic please. Thank you so much, I look forward to hearing from any of you.

Please don't forget to leave a review!


	6. It's A Hard Days Night

A/N: A thousand apologies. I am so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, this is not the chapter I was hoping to write (I tried several times but was having difficulty with a particular character), so this is a little filler chapter as compensation, hopefully I will have better luck with the remaining chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters (if I did, things would be so very different! LOL!). Also the chapter title belongs to Lennon & McCartney.

Please review and I hope you enjoy. :-)

Chapter Six – It's A Hard Day's Night!

After a relatively uneventful lunch, the two men quickly exited the restaurant before they were ambushed by the growing crowd of people who were gathering ominously near the entrance. Sherlock glanced across at his friend, and noting the hunted expression on the former army captain's face, he grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the lifts.

'But ... Sherlock, they'll follow us.' hissed John as he tried to tug his arm from the younger man's grip.

Without loosening his hold on John's arm, Sherlock lengthened his stride, thereby forcing John to jog along beside him to keep up and arrived at the lifts as one opened as if on cue allowing its occupants to alight. Sherlock quickly moved to intercept the closing doors and entered the lift, pressing the number 3 button. Only when the doors closed and the lift began to ascend, did Sherlock release John's arm.

John grimaced slightly as he glanced down at his arm, he didn't require a medical degree to know there would be a hand shaped bruise forming there shortly. Looking back up at his tall friend, John said in a disgruntled tone of voice, 'What the bloody hell was all that about, Sherlock? I'm fairly certain you didn't need to grab my arm quite that hard.'

Sherlock sighed heavily as he replied, 'If we had used the stairs, as we have done previously, some of the crowd of people would have followed us, possibly even caught up with us. The rest would have used the lifts themselves and would now be waiting to ambush us as we exited the stairwell. Realising this, I reasoned, quite correctly, that we would have a much better chance of losing our pursuers by travelling in the lift ourselves. As long as we managed to stay ahead of the crowd, we would have no difficulty reaching the required floor before everyone else. Therefore I "grabbed" your arm in order to expedite our escape.'

John gave an exasperated huff as he thought through his friend's logical reasoning. Then laughing quietly to himself as the adrenalin racing through his bloodstream began to slowly dissipate, John shook his head a little as his mind replayed the scene, reminding him of a film he had watched with Mary a few days previously on one of the more obscure satellite channels. Tipping his head back, the grin on his face widened as he caught sight of the confused frown on the young detective's face opposite him. Taking pity on his young friend's confusion, John calmed himself enough to speak, 'I'm beginning to get a little insight into how John, Paul, George and Ringo must have felt at the height of Beatlemania.'

Sherlock's frown deepened as he opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by a ping as the lift signalled that it had reached its destination. When the doors opened, Sherlock stepped carefully out into the corridor, his head spinning every which way, his keen eyes taking in every detail of the corridor. Motioning for John to follow, he made his way quickly to room 307 and opened the door. Just as John stepped inside and the door closed behind him, the door to the stairs crashed open, followed rapidly by the sound of running feet, and various people calling to each other. From what John and Sherlock could hear from inside their room, it seemed to be the consensus of opinion that the two men had a room on either the third or fourth floor. Silently the two men waited, barely breathing as they listened to the sound of the footsteps as they moved up and down the corridor outside their room. Eventually the noise from the running feet faded away, and silence once again reigned.

Breathing deeply, the two men relaxed their battle posture and moved further into the room, smiling at the absurdity of it all. The stillness of the room was suddenly shattered by a knock on the door. Both men froze as the knock came again. Then a voice muffled by the door could be heard.

'Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes, it's Iain Jackson, may I speak with you?'

John stepped over to the door to look through the spyhole. Seeing only the event organiser in the immediate vicinity, he cautiously opened the door and peered out. Noting that the crowd had indeed moved away, he took hold of Iain Jackson's arm and pulled him quickly into the room, closing the door rapidly behind him.

Sherlock stared at the man in front of him, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he observed his movements.

Noticing the detective's keen gaze resting on him, Iain fidgeted as he smiled nervously. 'Erm ... it's erm ... it's about today's itinerary, well I should say the rest of today's itinerary really as half the day has already passed.' Iain giggled, as his nerves got the better of him. Being a fan of the Great Sherlock Holmes, Iain had often imagined what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of Sherlock's all-seeing gaze, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality.


End file.
